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Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,

I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought:

Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance-desires:

My hopes no more must change their name,

I long for a repose that ever is the same. to

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee,
are fresh and strong. 48

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let mo
live! 50

TO A SKY-LARK
(1805)

Up with me! up with me into the clouds!

For thy song, Lark, is strong;
Up with me, up with me into the clouds!

Singing, singing,
With clouds and sky about thee ringing,

Lift me, guide me till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind!

I have walked through wildernesses dreary
And to-day my heart is weary;
Had I now the wings of a Faery, 10
Up to thee would I fly.

There is madness about thee, and joy divine

In that song of thine;

Lift me, guide me high and high

To thy banqueting-place in the sky.

Joyous as morning
Thou art laughing and scorning;
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest.
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20
To be such a traveller as I.
Happy, happy Liver,

With a soul as strong as a mountain river
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
Joy and jollity be with us both!

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;

But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,
As full of gladness and as free of heaven,
I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 30
And hope for higher raptures, when life's day
is done.

TO A SKY-LARK
(1825)

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound f
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground!
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music
still! C

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and
Home! 12

ODE

INTIMATIONS OP IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD*

I

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no
more.

• "To that dream-like vividness and splendour which Invest objects of sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon it here; but having In the poem regarded it as presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence. I think it right to protest against a conclusion, which has given pain to some good and pious persons, that I meant to inculcate such a belief. It is far too shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith, as more than an element In our instincts of immortality... A pre-exlstent state has entered Into the popular creeds of many nations; and, among all persons acquainted with classic literature, is known as an ingredient In Platonic philosophy."—Extract from Wordsworth's note. Compare Henry Vaughan's The Retreat, p. 223.

ii

The Rainbow comes and goes, 10 And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

m

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound 20
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief;
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy!

IV

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

My heart is at your festival, 40

My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all.

Oh evil day! if I were sullen

While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,

And the Children are culling
On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warni. And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:—

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 51

—But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam t
Where is it now, the glory and the dreamt

V

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 60

Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,

He sees it in his joy; 71 The Youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

VI

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,

And, even with something of a Mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim, 81
The homely Nurse doth all she can

To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,

And that imperial palace whence he came.

TO

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes! 90
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;

A wedding or a festival,

A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart,

And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

But it will not be long 100

Ere this be thrown aside.

And with new joy and pride
The little Actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his '' humorousi
stage"

With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,
That Life brings with her in her equipage;

As if his whole vocation

Were endless imitatior

l humorsome

VIII

Thou, whoso exterior semblance doth belie

Thy Soul's immensity; 110 Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, Jn darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, 120 A Presence which is not to be put by; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife t Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

rx

O joy! that in our embers 130

Is something that doth live,

That nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction; not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:—

Not for these I raise 1*0 The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High inBtincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, 160 Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,

To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,

Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 160 Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence in a season of calm weather

Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither,

Can in a moment travel thither, And sec the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

z

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young Lambs bound 170

As to the tabor's sound 1
We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find 180
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

XI

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and
Groves,

Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight 191
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels
fret,

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day

Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are
won. 200
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER
BRIDGE, September 3, 1802

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now iloth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Ne 'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING,
CALM AND FREE

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen I the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder—everlastingly.
Dear Child!* dear Girll that walkest with me
here,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom? all the year;
And worship 'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE
VENETIAN BEPUBLIC*

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And when she took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sca.t
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the
Shade

Of that which once was great, is passed away.

1 Wordsworth's sister, Dorothy.

2 See Luke xvl, 22.

• Venice threw off the yoke of the Eastern Empire as early as 800 and remained a republic or an oligarchy until conquered by Napoleon In 1707. At one time Rhe had extensive possessions and colonies In the Levant.

tThe ancient Doges annually, on Ascension Day. threw a ring Into the Adriatic In formal token of this espousal, or of perpetual dominion.

LONDON, 1802J

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee; she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the
sea:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathfid horn.

AFTERTHOUGHT!

I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away.—Vain sympathies!
For, backward, Duddon, ai I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall forever glide;
The Korm remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish;—be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have
power

To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's tran-
scendent dower.
We feel that we are greater than we know.

t Written In despondency over the Inert attitude of England toward the hopes and Ideals of the revolutionists and the opponents of Napoleon.

i The conclusion of a series of sonnets to the river Duddon.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834)

KUBLA KHAN*

In Xanadu i did Kubla Khan*
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient aB the hills, 10
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover 1
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil
seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 20
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war! 30

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played, 40

• Coleridge says this poem was composed when he had fallen asleep Just after reading from Marco Polo In Purchat's Pilgrimage how "In Xandu did Cublal Can build a stately palace," etc. There were more lines which he failed to record. Charles Lamb spoke of the poem as "a vision which he [Coleridge] repeats so enchantlngly that It Irradiates ana brings heaven and elyslan bowers Into my parlour when he sings or says It."

i A region In Tartary. . 2 Kubla the Cham, or

Emperor.

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those eaves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 60 Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINEBt

IN SEVEN PARTS
ARGUMENT

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the Tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and In what manner the Ancyent Marlnere came back to bis own Country.

Part L

It is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye.

Now wherefore stopp'st thou met

1-12. An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detalneth one.

t From the publication, in 1798, of the Lyrical Ballads, the Joint production of Coleridge and Wordsworth, may be dated very definitely the recognition of the new spirit in Kngllsb literature which Is commonly spoken of as the Romantic Revival. See Eng. Lit.. pp. 232-235. Coleridge, In the fourteenth chapter of his Biographia Literaria, writes of the occasion of the Lyrical Ballad* as follows:

"During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours of the imagination. The sudden cbarm. which accidents of light and shade, which moonlight or sunset, diffused over a known and familiar landscape, appeared to represent the practicability of combining both. These are the poetry of nature. The thought suggested itself (to which of us I do not recollect) that a series of poems might be composed of two sorts. In the one, the Incidents and agents were to be. in part at least, supernatural: and the excellence aimed at was to consist In the Interesting of the affections by the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such situations, supposing them real. And real In this sense they have been to every human being who. from whatever source of delusion, has at any time believed

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